Epitome
by Alioth
Summary: LoganJean angst and apathy. Lots of apathy. Vague alternamovieverse


Alterna-vague-movieverse. Go read. PG13-ish.

Epitome

Even as she raked her nails across the back of the man in front of her (inside of her, a wickedly delighted part of her mind corrected), Jean wondered what the hell she was doing her, with her sensible skirt hiked up around her wait and her equally sensible shoes kicked off to disappear among the mops and buckets of the supply closet. This was not the kind of woman who had trouble keeping track of her panties, who slipped into the bathroom on her way to dinner to see whether that bite mark had faded, who wrapped her legs around Logan's hips and tangled her hands in his hair as he thrust her back against the closet door.

Her crisis of identity was ended, or at least postponed, for several minutes, but returned as she stood, shaking and short of breath as she buttoned her blouse and gave up on her ruined hose. Jean could feel Logan looking at her and for a moment she hated him, hated the way he leaned against the wall, how naturally he pulled his shirt over his head, and she was drowning in hot waves of her anger and that deep post-coital ache to melt boneless against him…and the moment passed. Jean tucked her hair behind her ears and walked deliberately past him. "I'll see you at dinner."

Later, as she stirred her mashed potatoes idly and sat a calculated inch closer to Scott than Logan she felt the amusement and satisfaction radiating from the direction she wouldn't turn to, the conspiratorial gleam in those eyes she wouldn't meet and wondered why she wasn't sorry. Why she didn't regret slipping silent down the hall to pin Logan, his eyes wide with surprise and hope and even a joy that she was frightened to think about, straddle him and whisper a meaningless string of accusing syllables hot into his ear.

And all the times since then: with her office door locked, in the gym one damp afternoon, how many encounters that blurred into one with the easy familiarity of routine. There was no adrenaline rush, no thrill of the forbidden when she fucked Logan, as she had noticed when, as they lay several feet apart, sweaty and half-asleep in Scott's bed (she still thought of it that way, after all this time), the hum of the Blackbird had heralded Scott's return from a mission. "You'd better go," Jean had said without turning her head, and a few moments later felt the bed shift as Logan stood, not bothering to listen for the click of the door as he left. She hadn't moved, and when Scott came in he had found her lying naked and almost eagle-spread.

He had said nothing. No crack about her missing him. No question. No accusation. Just one searching look and then into the bathroom to shower. Jean had decided not to read his mind out of general apathy, and though she had considered it a thousand times since then, something always stopped her. Fear of what she might find or might not find? That same apathy that had left her splayed with another man's sweat drying on her skin as her fiancé walked into their room?

Jean swirled her peas into abstract patterns and laid a hand on top of Scott's. He started, then squeezed her fingers and turned to her with a look of such trust and love that she felt queasy. But she smiled back and left her hand cool in his as she thought of Logan.

She was barely even surprised when, pausing outside of the door after one of Scott's classes, she heard Marie's voice. "She's screwing Logan, you know. She has been for months."

Jean should have been shocked at the venom in that honey-sweet voice. She should have been anxious (to say the least) about Scott's reaction. But she simply pivoted gracefully and walked away, her shoulder's square and her mind blank. She passed Logan's room and her own and kept going until she found herself on the basketball court, leaning against the hoop and hugging her knees to her chest. And she waited.

Author's note: Okay, I meant to write an action confrontation-y scene, really! It's just that I started out with a vaguely apathetic tone and then Jean got really apathetic, and I just couldn't get out of my apathy-rut.


End file.
